


Hold On

by FreezingRayne



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/FreezingRayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s taken time and a bit of coaxing for Fenris to finally begin taking what he wants, but <i>Maker</i> has it been worth the wait.</p><p>PWP.  Written for the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On

Hawke wraps a hand around what he dimly recognizes as the leg of his writing desk, grip so tight it’s a wonder the wood doesn’t crack. “ _Maker_.”

Fenris’ lips are pressed together in concentration, sweaty hair sticking to his neck. “Don’t bring him into this. I don’t—ah, don’t want to think about the _Chantry_ right now.”

Their sparring match had ended similarly to the way all of them had recently—with one of them flat on their back with their legs in the air. Or bent across the desk. Or on all fours on the very expensive Antivan rug.

Hawke grits his teeth. “It’s too—I have to say…say _something_.” Fenris pulls out slowly, thrusts back in again with a quick snap of his hips, so deep a rumbling growl is forced up out of Hawke’s throat. “I suppose…suppose you could gag me if—.”

Fenris kisses him before he can say anything else, tongue hot and slick. He hitches his legs up higher, thrusting deep, striking the spot that makes Hawke throw his head back and howl. The power behind his thrusts is incredible, hands locked tight enough that Hawke knows he’ll have bruises the next day.

It’s taken time and a bit of coaxing for Fenris to finally begin taking what he wants, but _maker_ has it been worth the wait. Hawke’s never had a lover half as voracious, half as hungry for touch.

“I thought…” Fenris sinks in deep and pulls back out, face nearly slack with pleasure. “I thought we were meant to be training.”

Hawke grins. “We can, if you’d like.” He tightens down, flexing, pulling him in deep.

That gets a throaty growl and a moaned curse. Fenris pulls out for a moment, leaving Hawke desperate and empty, before flipping him over onto his front, spread out over the hearth rug. He drapes himself over his back, sliding back in a long, slick thrust. The heat of the fire washes over them, Fenris licking up beads of sweat as they form on Hawke’s back, before setting his teeth in the meat of his neck, rutting against him like an animal.

Hawke groans, rubbing his aching cock against the soft weave of the carpet, gasping as he feels the pleasure pull tight in the pit of his stomach.

“I like this,” Fenris breathes, voice hot and ragged round the edges. He snarls a hand in Hawke’s hair, not rough enough to hurt, but enough so that he feels utterly taken. “Having you spread beneath me like this.”

Hawke wants to say yes, _maker yes_ , this is exactly what he wants, but Fenris licks a long line up his spine, taking him hard and fast, and he can’t do anything but gasp and hang on tight.

He can feel it the moment climax hits Fenris, his whole body going taut, hips grinding deep, Hawke’s name growled low and desperate in his ear.

“Fenris, _yes_ , please—.”

He finds himself rolled onto his back, Fenris sitting back on his haunches, scars gleaming silver in the light of the fire, eyes heavy and lidded. Just watching.

“Merciless bastard,” Hawke groans. He trails a hand down his body, past the line of bites along his ribs and the tender expanse of forming bruises on his hips. He’s so slick with sweat and his own fluids that he slides easily against the palm of his hand, arching his back and moaning—a little for show, a little just because it feels that good. He only needs a few strokes before the pleasure takes him, wracking his body, painting slippery-white up his stomach.

He sags back down against the rug, breathing like he’s just fought off a pack of slavers, and a couple of Templars thrown in for good measure. A moment later and Fenris is crawling up beside him, leaning in for another kiss, this one slow and sated.

“You’re cruel, you know that?” Hawke says when he has the breath.

Fenris’ smile is like a wolf’s. “And you’re a mess.” He trails his fingers up through the slick on his belly.

“And who’s fault is that?” Hawke flexes abused muscles experimentally. He winces. “I hope you’ll be the one explaining to Anders why I have to stay behind tomorrow when we’re supposed to be searching out his bloody potion ingredients.”

Fenris’ lips curl up round the edges. “I’d be happy to. I don’t like the way he looks at you.” A possessive hand slides up his chest. “Now that I finally have something that’s mine, I’m not giving it up.”

So he belongs to a vengeful ex-slave with the strength of two men and the sexual appetite of five. Hawke thinks, as he closes his eyes and sinks down into sleep, that he can imagine worse things.


End file.
